


Seeping In

by experimentingwithbackcombing



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:07:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24279349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/experimentingwithbackcombing/pseuds/experimentingwithbackcombing
Summary: This is inspired from another fic I read quite some time ago. I can't remember the title or the author or where I read it. The premise is similar but I've taken it in my own direction, I think. In any case, my objective isn't to copy, merely to riff. I couldn't get this out of my head.This story takes place between "The Indians In the Lobby" and "The Women of Qumar" and then obviously diverges from canon.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 35
Kudos: 130





	1. Part 1, Donna

The drive from White Plains to Westport was usually about a half hour with no traffic, but of course they hit the peak of rush hour and they didn’t roll up to the driveway until over an hour and a half after they left the airport. 

It was a cold Friday evening in early December. Donna pulled the sleeves of her cardigan underneath her coat over her hands and zipped herself up as far as the zipper would allow.

“Welcome to Chez Lyman,” Josh announced as he cut the engine. Though he had turned on the rental car’s heat practically as far as it would go, the chill from outside quickly seeped in now that it went unchallenged.

The window fogged up and Donna used her fist to rub out a makeshift porthole. It was an old house, a New England ranch that made up for its lack of height by sprawling in either direction, practically molding itself into the granite hillside at its foundation. 

“This is where you grew up,” Donna said, more of a statement than a question. “They sure don’t make ‘em like this in Wisconsin.”

“My home until I left for school,” he replied. Instead of responding, Donna shivered; the car was now getting cold in earnest. “Here, take the key and get yourself inside where it’s warm. Or,” he paused, “at least warmer than it is in here. I’ll grab our bags and follow you in.”

Donna smiled and took the key. Walking up the stone steps to the house she took in the beauty of the house. With white board-and-batten siding and a long porch with arched trim, and clearly the result of several additions over many generations, the house seemed a puzzle, but an inviting one. She had never seen a house quite like it.

Josh had come home from Thanksgiving in Florida looking even more harassed than he had left, if such a thing were possible. 

“Donna,” he said over the phone as he had called from the airport in D.C. “Can you clear next Friday, Saturday, and Sunday for me?”

Donna had been enjoying the relative silence in Josh’s absence, and was allowing herself to watch Beaches on VHS and weep without interruption. She was especially enjoying the silence of her phone, as Josh’s mother had a habit of hiding his cell phone soon after he entered her home so that she could have the undivided attention of her “bubbeleh.” 

“Seriously?” she asked, trying to hide a sniffle. “You have meetings on the Hill on Friday.”

“Cancel them. And book me a flight to White Plains, New York.”

“Okay,” she sniffled again.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re watching Beaches again.”

“Hey!”

“Ha! Point for the home team! Why do you watch that movie anyway? It always makes you cry.”

“That’s the idea, Joshua.”

“I will never understand womankind,” he sighed.

“I see you’re finally coming to terms with the fact,” she replied. “So...cancel your meetings and book a flight to White Plains? Leaving Friday, returning Sunday? Or early Mond--”

“Hey,” he said, cutting her off, “what are you doing next weekend? Not a date with another gomer, I hope.”

She did not, in fact, have a date. Not yet, at least. “Just a haircut…”

“Reschedule it. I need your help.” Was that relief she caught in his voice?

“With what? Why do you need my help?”

“Up in Connecticut. Hold on, I’m getting a cab.” There was a pause and muffled shuffling and suddenly a bellowed “Taxi!” as Josh hailed a cab from airport arrivals.

“Sorry, back.”

“Is everything okay, Josh? Is your mother okay?” Donna asked, pausing the movie.

“She’s fine. She gave me the house.”

“Excuse me?”

“She signed the house over to me because she’s decided to live in Florida full time. She’s  
‘met someone’ she says. Anyway, there’s paperwork with the lawyer. And I want to go through the house, decide if I should sell it or keep it.”

“Keep it? You mean the house? Are you planning on moving to Connecticut?” A thousand thoughts raced through her mind before she could stop them. Was he going to leave his job here? She was certain he loved his work, that he loved working for the White House. Had Rosslyn finally caught up with him? 

“I don’t know, maybe as an investment,” he offered. She could practically see him shrug with equivocation.

“Are you going to fix it up, become a real estate barron? Why do you need my help anyway?”

“There’s so much paperwork, Donna,” he whined. “And you’re good at organizing things.”

“The lawyer will handle the paperwork, Joshua. And also need I remind you that you, too, are technically also a lawyer?”

“Please just come. Things will go so much faster if you come with me. I’ll pay for everything.”

“You’re basically asking me to work through the weekend.”

“You do that anyway,” he reminded her.

“Only because you never leave the office! Seriously, Josh, you need a personal life.”

“Just come with me. I’ll even take you to dinner.” 

She considered for a moment. It wasn’t technically a work trip, but she would be working. He was asking her to help with the logistics, just like she did for him every day, plus she would get to see where little Josh grew up.

“Can we go to a French restaurant?”

“I know just the place.”


	2. Part 2

Josh

When he came inside he saw her at the thermostat turning up the heat.

“Oh, let me go flip the power and water on first,” he said. “Place should warm up in a jiffy.”

“A ‘jiffy’? Since when do you say things like ‘jiffy’?”

“Since right now. It’s my home turf. It makes me folksy.”

“Folksy?” she replied looking at him dubiously.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just hold on.”

“Hurry! I need to pee,” she called after him.

Josh went down the hall and into the kitchen where he opened a small utility closet. A couple of switches flipped and levers turned later and the house was up and running, the digital clocks on the appliances blinking as they begged to be set.

“Water’s on!” he yelled.

“You don’t need to shout,” she said, following his voice into the kitchen. “Erm, where’s the bathroom?”

“Oh, sorry. The closest one is down the hall, just there. On your left. Let me know if you need anything.”

He took her bag to one of the guest bedrooms, one with a view of the Saugatuck River in the distance. He took his own bag to his old bedroom, decorated as it was with his beloved Mets memorabilia from the 1970s. It felt silly to put his things there. He was the owner of the place now, after all. Shouldn’t he take the master bedroom?

“Josh?” he heard from down the hall before he could make a decision.

“Sorry! Just over here.”

“Hey,” she said smiling from the door frame of his room as she looked at a large, discolored poster of Tom Seaver. “Thanks for taking my bag to the room. Mind giving me a few minutes to freshen up? Maybe then we can get something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Yeah, of course! I think the linen closet is still right next to the bathroom. There should be clean towels in there, if you wanted to take a shower. Want me to order some food?”

“That would be perfect. What are you thinking?”

“Italian?” he asks.

“Great. You can order for me,” she said as she spun around toward the bathroom. Of course he knew what she wanted. Early on during the campaign trail they used to order takeout almost every night. If they ordered Italian, she would always order either cheese ravioli, or, if they had gone without good food for a particularly long stretch, a big piece of lasagna. He didn’t know where she put it all. She never seemed to gain a pound. 

He heard the water turn on and walked back to the kitchen. He pulled out a glass from the cupboard and turned on the tap, which sputtered as it discharged the air in the line. The tap water was good here. It was easy to forget after living so long on D.C. water. He took a sip and looked contemplatively out the window as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

He wasn’t sure why he had asked her to come with him, but he was glad he did. He hadn’t even decided to ask until the moment did, and he was equally surprised she had said yes. He thought she might plead a date with some lame new side piece. He had given her an out and everything. But she came with him. 

Thanksgiving at his mom’s had been strange. The weather was nice, but nothing felt like home. His mother had, after all, moved into a sort of semi-retirement community. She didn’t cook, so he ordered a catered Thanksgiving spread at the last minute. He had almost called Donna and asked her to do it for him, but he didn’t want to interrupt her Thanksgiving. For that matter, he didn’t even know what she had gone for Thanksgiving. He had only called her about Connecticut the day after and from the sound of it she was watching Beaches alone in her apartment. She must not have gone home to Wisconsin. He should have asked her about it.

He picked up the phone and dialed the Italian place they used to order from when he was a kid. Five-cheese ravioli for the lady and chicken cacciatore for him, delivered in about an hour. 

The question still nagged at him after he hung up the phone. Why had he invited her? Her help would undoubtedly be invaluable. It would probably save him from having to make another trip in the future. But he knew why he really brought her along; he just hadn’t admitted it to himself yet.


	3. Part 3

Donna

The bathroom was a jack-and-jill. The sink was made from beautiful white marble and the floor, rather than a more sensible tile or laminate, was made out of the same wide wooden floorboards of the rest of the house. The lid of the toilet was adorned with a light pink shag-carpet cover that matched the bath mat. They were a little tacky, she thought, but having met Josh’s mom before, not entirely surprising. 

The shower sputtered and eventually ran smooth, but it took quite a while for it to heat up. The water heater hadn’t had a head start. She settled with a warm shower, though she would rather have had a hot one. She pulled her sweater off and the camisole over her head, stripped off her jeans after toeing off her socks.

It had been a surprisingly smooth trip. The flight out of D.C. wasn’t long, but the traffic after the flight was enough to make her feel achy and cramped. Traveling with Josh hadn’t even been so bad. Granted, she had taken care of arranging the flight and the rental car, so there was nothing for him to have done but show up on time, but he did. He even brought her coffee and a bagel with low-fat cream cheese. Plus, he only whined once, and that was when he saw how long the security line was at the airport. And also when they hit bumper-to-bumper traffic on 95. Okay, two times. A low bar, maybe, but that was a pretty solid effort considering it was Josh.

Being in Josh’s childhood home was not what she expected, though she hadn’t really been sure what to expect. As the luke warm-water cascaded over her face and shoulders she tried to recall what she had imagined his childhood home had looked like, because imagine she had. The first time she had met Josh’s mother, she thought they were dating, and before Donna could correct her, she was telling her about how she had to come to the house and Josh’s father would make them all a pot roast and that she would show her Josh’s old room and his pictures from when he was a baby. Donna remembered his mother’s face when she said that she was just his assistant. “What a shame,” were her words.

Maybe it was just that, that somehow she imagined that if she ever walked into Josh’s childhood home, it would be bright, warm, and welcoming. Josh’s mom and dad would be there to see them in the door, there’d be a pot roast finishing in the oven, his mother would kiss her on the cheek and say something sweet about how lucky she was to have Donna as--

She stopped that thought in its tracks and concentrated on rinsing the conditioner from her hair with more vigor than required. Shutting off the water and stepping out of the shower, she felt the chill of the house. After toweling her hair dry, she slipped into a pair of UW-Madison sweat pants and a fresh fitted t-shirt along with her cardigan from earlier, and then stepped out of the bathroom, squeezing the ends of her hair with a towel as she walked back into the kitchen.


	4. Part 4

**Josh**

He’d seen her dressed like this before. On the campaign trail, of course, when she’d stop by his room freshly showered just before bed to check with him on whatever details he needed for the next day. Thinking about that had gotten him through more than a few lonely nights. And then the time when he stopped by her apartment to pick up her key so he could get her mail when her roommate was out of town and she went to her grandmother’s funeral back in Wisconsin. Only that time she had been crying, her face and eyes red and her cheeks puffy.

Now though, she was nothing short of ethereal.

“Joshua,” she said. “Josh? Are you okay?”

“I--what? Yes, of course. Yes.” Oh, he’d been staring. And now, apparently, babbling. He noticed how the ends of her damp hair left blots on her cardigan. Her skin was flushed and bright, free of makeup. 

In a moment the world seemed to fall into place. He could hardly explain it, but she fit here. She fit here  _ with him _ . This house, it’s not that he disliked it. His childhood had been a good one, but he’d never had particularly strong feelings about this house. It was a perfectly good place to live. Perfectly serviceable. But now--now suddenly his feelings about this house were very strong, but only with some very specific conditions.

“Wine!” he said suddenly.

“Wine?” she asked, arching her eyebrow.

“Yeah! Do you want some? I’d offer you a beer but there’s nothing in the fridge. My parents have a pretty great collection of wine, though. Mom didn’t take that with her to Florida. It was mainly dad’s collection anyway.”

“Oh, Josh, I couldn’t do that. Your dad’s wine? It must be really nice wine, too. Save it for something special.”

“Dad liked to share his wine with people he cared about. With people he loved. I...I want to do that, too. He’d want us to drink it, not to store it away like some kind of wine miser.”

“I think they left that character out of _Santa Claus Is Coming To Town_ ,” she replied, trying to laugh and look away, but not before he saw her eyes widen with apprehension and her cheeks color. “I feel like I’m not dressed for it.”

“You’re dressed for it perfectly. I’ll go pick something out. Maybe a red? Unless you want to wait for a white to chill in the fridge?”

“Red sounds great,” she answered as he walked past her and down the hall. He caught the scent of her shampoo and he tried desperately to focus on the task at hand.

He grimaced inwardly. Wine? That’s what you decide to talk about? And your dead dad? Way to add to the mood, Josh. “Hey, do you want to drink some of my dead dad’s wine?” He rolled his eyes at himself. She probably couldn’t wait to get out of here. What was he thinking bringing her up here? She could have anyone in Washington she wanted. Who was he kidding? What was he thinking that she would want to be here of all places? He pulled at his hair making it stand more on end that it had been after a day’s worth of traveling. 

He got to the door of the wine cellar--well, more of a dusty old root cellar that was part of the original house from the late eighteenth century that his dad had repurposed into a wine cellar--and pulled the chain that flicked on the lone light bulb in the middle of the room. It was musty and the wooden stairs to the bottom creaked from age and disuse. 

He couldn’t pretend like he actually knew what he was doing with wine. He preferred beer, really. So he decided to go by color and year. He was going for a red, that much he knew. So now he needed a year. What years were good for wine? He had no idea. He skimmed over the labels scratched out in his father’s horrifically illegible handwriting, squinting his eyes in the dim light, and gasped.

You know? he thought to himself, wiping the thick layer of dust from the label and smiling, maybe his dad was looking out for him somewhere out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Thanks for keeping up with this. I know my updates are really irregular, but I promise I do make time to work on this story. I have a lot of other writing projects I'm juggling right now, mainly my dissertation, for which I have a deadline soon. Anyway, after this chapter I'm going to start doing double chapters. I've been alternating each chapter between Donna and Josh's POVs, but I'm going to start posting them as units with one of Josh and one of Donna together. I want to pick up the pace a little bit! I've really appreciated all of your kind words so far. Thanks for reading!


	5. Part 5

**Donna**

She heard Josh return before she saw him. He had cobwebs in his hair and she pushed herself up from her seat on a counter-top bar stool to walk over and pick it off.

“I’m a little hesitant to ask what else your parents stored in that cellar,” she quipped, noticing his body had gone still as she flicked bits of dust from his hair. She was close enough to catch the scent of his skin. While that wasn’t necessarily unusual, she always made sure to savor it.

“Here--” he said abruptly. “This.” He awkwardly pushed a bottle of wine into her hands.

“Care to use your words, Joshua?” She was annoyed that he broke the moment, but she simply rolled her eyes as she turned the bottle to read the label.

La Bella Donna

Barolo

Piedmonte

1998

“Oh, wow, Josh. What are the odds?”

“Lucky ones. I just happened upon it, really. Wait--” He raised his eyebrow and gestured for the bottle. Looking at the back label, he colored more than she had ever seen him before.

“What is it?” she asked.

He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured, shaking his head, blushing even more, if it was possible. 

She took the bottle from him again, which he loosed only reluctantly. She squinted at the scraggly writing on the back label.

“To Josh,

For when you’re ready.

Love, Dad.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she could feel herself blush, the heat rising in her face, and she was sure over her neck and chest as well.

“1998, the year we met,” she whispered.

“La Bella Donna,” he said, almost to himself. “‘The beautiful woman.’”

He began rummaging around in the kitchen drawers, and, finally finding his object, went about uncorking the wine. There was a pause as they did one of their wordless conversations, Josh tilting his head to the cupboard to the side of the sink after she raised an inquisitive eyebrow. She walked over and pulled out two wine glasses while trying to calm her heart rate and steady her breathing. What did his father mean by that,  _ when he was ready _ ?

“You are, you know,” he said, startling her out of her thoughts.

“I’m what?” She could barely look at him as she brought over the glasses and he began pouring.

“You don’t think we should decant this, should we?” he asked as one glass was almost poured.

“You’re talking to a girl who bought a box of white wine for the week last Saturday, so I’m not sure I’m an expert in the field.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know where the decanter is, anyway, so this is just as well.”

He finished pouring the glasses and handed her one. They clinked glasses and each took a sip. She looked up at him as he looked down at her, eyes searching.

“Beautiful,” he said, finally. “You’re beautiful.”

**Josh**

He’d said it. The words were out of his mouth. Part of him wanted to reel them back in, but this wasn’t the kind of thing you could take back, and, really, he didn’t want to.

“I--” she began, and he noticed her body stiffen. “Thank you.” Her shoulders dropped and she gave him a weak sort of smile. “Really, you’re very sweet to say so.” She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek lightly before taking another, much larger drink of her wine.

This was not the reaction he had expected. But then, what had he expected? For her to melt into a hopeless puddle of lust? To jump on him and demand they make love that very instant? Did he even want that? If he was being frank, he wouldn’t be against it. When she walked over to him and started pulling dust out of his hair, he rather inconveniently noticed how the tips of her nipples were showing through the thin fabric of her t-shirt, and it was practically all he could do to keep his blood flow where it belonged.

“I hope that wasn’t out of line,” he said, heart beating in his throat.

“No, of course it wasn’t. It was very sweet.”

It was time to be brave. Maybe there was something in the water. Something about the house seeping into him.

“But you wish I hadn’t said it,” he countered.

“No, I--” she began. “Look, Josh, let’s not ruin a nice night. We’ve got good wine, food on the way.”

“Is it that you don’t think you’re beautiful? Because honestly, Donna--”

“That’s the whole problem, Josh. You know my ex, the one you call Dr. Freeride?”

“What did he do to you?” he asked, suddenly very alert at the mention of that utter incompetent. 

Donna walked back over to her seat at the counter and motioned for him to follow.

“Nothing, Josh. Don’t get upset. It’s just--that’s what he used to say all the time to me. I realize now that he would say it when he was trying to manipulate me. I was young and maybe a little vain, but mostly just grateful for the praise from such a handsome man who seemed to want me. He would tell me I was beautiful, that I was gorgeous. I believed him. I think he meant it, too. But he only said it when he needed something, when he needed me to do something for him.”

“I’m sorry he did that,” was all he could say.

“It’s not just him, though. It happens all the time. Any woman could probably give you an example. Men tell you you’re pretty to butter you up. And, you know, honestly, I know! I know I’m pretty! I’ve got blonde hair and blue eyes. I’m thin. It’s what any man would want, except maybe the gay ones,” she mentioned as an afterthought. “But I don’t control these things. Sure I try to look nice and professional. Sure I want to look attractive. But it would be nice to be appreciated, I guess, for things I actually have real control over.”

When she finished her speech, as if realizing what she had said, she demurred her eyes and looked away as she took a drink from her glass.

“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I shouldn’t have said that. You were being sweet. My mom always said I should just learn how to accept a compliment.” She screwed up her face and put on a smile. “Anyway, what’s the plan for tomorrow?”


	6. Part 6

**Donna**

She wouldn’t know what his response would have been, because the doorbell rang.

“The food,” he said, practically heaving a sigh of relief and walked out of the room. She heard the transaction at the door and soon he was back along with the welcome scent of garlic and marinara sauce.

“Let me help,” she said. “Where are the plates?” 

“You don’t just want to eat out the take out containers?”

“Joshua, the bare minimum respect we can pay to this wine is using real plates and cutlery for dinner.”

“You’re guess is as good as mine, then,” he replied, waving around at the cabinets. “Dad always kept the wine glasses by the sink and the crockpot above the stove, but everything else got reorganized every year or so. He was a big believer in feng shui, even though I’m not entirely sure he knew what that meant.”

Donna chuckled and began opening cabinets at random. She was glad he hadn’t lingered on her outburst earlier. She hadn’t meant to make things awkward. Josh pulled the containers out of the paper bag and she handed him the plates once she found them.

“I thought tomorrow we could go through the stuff in my room and my parents’ room. Probably the wine cellar, too, now that I think about it. There’s probably a few thousand dollars worth of wine down there that needs accounting for. The lawyer’s making a special trip out here with the paperwork tomorrow morning, so I’ll handle that if you could start on the rest of the stuff.”

“Are we just taking inventory of everything? Packing things up? Do you need me to arrange a storage unit around here or in D.C.?” she asked as she carefully slid Josh’s chicken from the takeout container to the plate.

“Definitely an inventory, but only of the valuable stuff. Mom took everything with her that she wanted, so whatever is left is ours to keep.”

“Ours?” she said, raising her eyebrow, but not brave enough to turn towards him.

“I mean mine, obviously.”

“Right, of course.” She handed him his plate and he handed her hers, and they sat together at the counter once more.

“Has being here made you think about what you want to do with the house?” she asked, breaking the silence. The silence of the house descended on her all at once. She could hear every scrape and clink as she cut her ravioli neatly with the side of her fork.

“Well, what do you think I should do?”

“Me? I don’t know. I’ve never been a homeowner in my life. If it were me, and I just had a house fall into my lap, I’d probably keep it. Or maybe sell it an buy another. I think it would depend on how attached I was to the house.”

“I don’t hate this house. It’s nice. I grew up here,” he said after swallowing a too large and too hot bite of chicken. “And Joanie lived here, too...I can’t imagine this house belonging to anyone else.”

“Maybe you could rent it out?” she suggested.

He shrugged. I don’t have a lot of spare time to be a landlord. And I’d be hours away. I guess,” he paused, putting down his fork and knife and taking his glass of wine. She noticed his lips were somewhat tinged with purple from the wine. “I guess my best memories aren’t in this house. They certainly weren’t bad times, but I don’t know, you know? I wasn’t really living yet.”

She was now wishing she hadn’t had so much wine on an empty stomach. Her cheeks were getting flushed and warm.

“Where were your best memories?” she asked.

He answered immediately. “The last few years, definitely. On the campaign trail. At the White House. In the bullpen.”

“You mean you work those slavish hours on purpose? Because you like it? Masochist.” While she spoke the words playfully, they were slightly out of panic. Deflection with humor. There was something he left unsaid, she could tell, intentionally. In the bullpen _...with you _ .

“Just trying to impress you with my manly endurance, Donna Moss.”

She rolled her eyes, but after a moment said, “For me, too. Since the campaign trail, showing up and begging you for a job. That’s when I finally felt like I was living a life I could be proud of.

“I don’t think you’ll ever know how glad I am you did that.”

**Josh**

“Really?” she says quietly, almost inaudibly.

“Of course,” he said. He watched her as she looked down at her plate, pushing her fork idly around her food. She smiled a cute sort of smug grin. 

He took a deep breath. “You know, I didn’t just ask you to come with me because you’re my assistant.”

Her fork stopped. “I thought...I thought maybe that was the case, yeah.”

“You did?” he asked, surprised.

“I think I know you pretty well. Your excuse for asking me to come with you was pretty thin.”

“I just like having you around. I’ve gotten used to you.”

He realized almost immediately that he had said the wrong thing.

“Used to me? Like the terrible coffee in the mess?”

“No! No! I didn’t mean it like that. I mean I’m used to how you make me feel, in a good way. Like seeing you first thing when I get into work. Or the way you roll your eyes at me, like you’re doing right now. Or the Post-Its you scatter everywhere, some of them with reminders that might impact major policy and others that tell me my mother has called me three times and I really need to call her back.”

“Well, honestly, you were kind of being a bad son, Josh.”

“You’re missing the point of what I’m trying to tell you.”

“No, I’m not. I know exactly what you’re talking about. I feel it, too.”

“You do?” he asked, his heart rating picking up.

“Don’t be stupid, Josh. Of course I do.”

“You don’t think it’s skeevy of me?” he asked.

“Is what skeevy? Knowing you there’s like a fifty-fifty chance.”

“Haha, yes. Very funny.” He took his final bite of chicken, chewed and swallowed, and chased it with a large pull on his wine. “I mean me,” he said finally, “having feelings for his subordinate.”


	7. Part 7

**Donna**

“I’m not sure Toby would appreciate you calling him your subordinate,” she quipped.

She saw him smirk reluctantly, and then furrowed his brow. “Donna, I’m trying to say something important right now--”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she replied. It was easier to joke around than face what had always seemed like an utter impossibility, that right now, in the hills of Connecticut, in a house she’d never been to before now, while she was fairly tipsy on good wine, sitting at the kitchen counter, her boss would tell her that he had feelings for her. For  _ her _ .

“It’s not just me, though, right?” he asked.

“No, of course not. But why here? Why now? Why not take me out to dinner in D.C. and turn on the woo there? It’s exactly not that I feel cornered, but what was your plan if I said I didn’t feel it too?”

“I--” he began.

“And for that matter,” she continued, cutting him off, “why did it take half a bottle of wine for you to say it? And before you tell me that I could just have easily said it too, need I remind you that I am, at the end of the day, your subordinate? I can’t just come traipsing into your office one day and say, ‘I love you, Joshua, I’ve loved you all of these years, take me, Congress-whisperer!’ I can’t risk that kind of openness!”

“Do you really think I’d retaliate?”

“No, but Josh, think about the position I’m in. Think about who has more to lose if circumstances were different. I just want you to be sure--about everything, about us. And that it’s not just the memories of this house or the wine seeping into you.”

“Are  _ you _ sure about us?” he countered.

“Oh, Josh,” she said, pausing, looking at him with an expression half full of sorrow, and half of hope, “I’ve been sure about us since we first met.”

“Then why did you go back to Dr. Freeride?”

He certainly wasn’t pulling his punches this evening. 

“That was a mistake. And I came back.”

“Because he dumped you.”

“No. I was in a car accident.”

“What?” he practically shouted. 

“Yeah, I didn’t actually slip on the ice. Anyway, they took me to the hospital and I called him and he came down to get me, and on the way he stopped and met some friends of his for a beer. So I dumped him.”

“He stopped on the way to the hospital for a beer?” he said incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“If you were in an accident, I wouldn’t stop for a beer,” he said quietly.

She leaned forward and took his face in her hands. “You silly man. If you were in an accident, I wouldn’t stop for red lights.” She placed a kiss on his forehead, and pulled away and smiled.

**Josh**

“Let’s just hope neither of us get into any accidents, then,” he said in an attempt to break the tension. They were saying real things, important things.

“Our track record isn’t great, you have to admit.”

He chuckled grimmly and took a moment to look at her. Her eyes looked tired but she looked happy. And still, she looked like she was pulling back somehow, as if to protect herself.

“I’m sorry if anything I said made you feel uncomfortable. But I want you to know that everything I said has been true for a long time. Being here in this house, it’s made me realize what’s actually made me happy. This house was fine before. But now, with you in it...it feels right.”

“You’re really a big ol’ softie, aren’t you?”

“Please don’t tell Sam.”

“I still think you should sleep on it. Maybe clear your head of all the wine. You might feel differently in the morning.”

“I won’t! Since when do I say things I don’t mean?”

“When strong-arming Republican congressmen?”

“Okay,” he replied. “Fair. When do I say things I don’t mean when it matters?”

“When you refused to admit you needed help after Rosslyn.”

“All right, all right. But I’m serious about this. Donna, I’m in lo--”

“Don’t say it,” she said. “Not yet. I’m tired, and I think I’m going to go to bed. I want you to say it when I’m not just going to think it’s a dream.”

She stood up and took their plates to the sink.

“I’ll clean up. It’s fine,” he said. She smiled. 

“Remember,” she said, “you put soap on the sponge and use warm water and you have to get off  _ all _ the food.”

“Oh, you really are the comedy queen today, aren’t you? Do you really think I’ve never washed dishes before?”

“I think that you are single-handedly keeping the paper plate industry in business, based on what I’ve seen of your place.”

He rolled his eyes. “Just go to bed, woman!” and as she turned around he slapped her lightly on her ass.

She wheeled around. “What did I say?”

“Sorry,” he murmured guiltily. She smiled, but before she walked off down the hallway, she quickly returned the favor. 

“Hey!” he yelped, but she’d already dashed out of sight. He swung a dish towel over his shoulder and started the water. “Wait!” he shouted. “Did you call me ‘Congress-whisperer’ earlier?”

Her only reply was a tinkling chuckle from down the hall. He smiled. He would sleep well tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've obviously taken stuff directly from the show itself--the famous "wouldn't even stop for red lights" conversation. Thanks for keeping up with this story! I really appreciate it!


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I didn't forget about this fic! I'm in my final year of my PhD and I'm trying to make my dissertation not terrible, and between that and teaching and general stress and you know, a pandemic with all the extra stress that brings with it, I've been delinquent with this fic! Sorry!

**Josh**

He woke up early. The sun was still rising, taking its time. His was a west-facing window, so through the trees the sky was still a muted dusty blue. He looked over at the clock on the nightstand. It was 6:30 in the morning, which on any other day would definitely be sleeping in, but right now he thought he could go back to sleep for hours.

That is until he remembered his conversation with Donna the night before, remembered that he was in Connecticut, not his D.C. brownstone, and that Donna was sleeping right down the hall. 

Suddenly he became very alert, sitting bolt upright on the mattress. He pushed back the blankets and stepped out of bed, going over to his carry-on bag, rifling through his clothes - all neatly folded, he noted with confusion - and pulled out a pair of jeans.

In minutes he was dressed, and he opened the door of the bedroom gingerly. Donna’s door was still shut, and as he walked down the hall he placed his ear to the door. He hoped it wasn’t creepy, only wanting to tell if she was showing signs of waking up soon. From the silence he determined she was still fast asleep and he smiled.

He was not, he told himself firmly, going to mess this up. At the closet by the front door he fished out a pair of winter boots, his dad’s, and threw on his own coat before grabbing his wallet and keys from the side table. He would go into town and get them coffee and donuts, but wondered, then, if Donna would prefer something healthier, like fruit or a granola bar, or whatever healthy people ate. 

He drove the rental car into town. It was even bougier that he remembers, beyond bougie, even. It was a solidly upper-class town. The eerie perfection and quaintness of the buildings reminded him why he wanted to get out of there in the first place. The personality of this hometown was almost entirely façade and its citizens had more money than they knew what to do with.

He returned to the house with two coffees, half a dozen donuts, and a couple of bananas that were in a basket next to the cash register. As he walked in the door, kicking off flecks of ice from his boots, he heard the toilet flush, and, as he was hanging up his coat, saw Donna come around the corner wearing light blue pajama bottoms with a cloud print and an oversized blue sweatshirt that read Madison West High School Regents. She looked incredible.

Her face was free of makeup and a little puffy still from sleep, but her eyes lit up when she saw the large coffee in the carrier sitting on the side table.

“You’re wonderful,” she said, taking one of the coffees, taking a sip, making a face as she realized it was his (far too much sugar), and took the other, smiling at him in thanks.

He realized he had been watching each of her movements with great fixation, how the corner of her mouth tweaked up just before a full grin, how she tucked her hair behind her ear absentmindedly, how her tongue sneaked out to lick the dribble of coffee on the lid of the cup.

“Donuts, too,” he said weakly, his brain unable to form more words than that.

“Are you okay, Josh?” she asked, pulling him further into the house. He noticed that he was a human with feet and shuffled in as she pulled him away from the cold air of the entryway.

“Bananas,” he said, gesturing over to the side table where he had set them.

“Are you having a stroke?” she asked, her face now contorted with concern.

He finally got himself together, shaking his head to expel whatever spell had come over him.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was ensorcelled.”

In her high heels, she wasn’t much shorter than him, but with just her socks on, the top of her head came up only to his nose, so she had to press up onto her toes in order to kiss him on the cheek.

He felt his face redden and other parts of him begin on their own renegade missions.

He didn’t know what to do. Should he kiss her? Should he ask first? Should he start in on that jelly-filled donut?

As if she heard the cacophony inside his head, she smirked knowingly, handed him his coffee, and said, “Breakfast first, I think.”

They sat at the kitchen table, which stood in the middle of a room with more windows than wall, a newer addition that encroached on the wildness of the woods so that the morning light danced through the branches and through the skylights built in the the roof.

“It’s beautiful here, Joshua,” she said.

He hummed in agreement, his mouth full of donut. It was nice out here in the wooded hills. He finally swallowed and took another sip of coffee to wash it down. 

“I like that, you know,” he said, and as she began to raise her eyebrow in question, he continued, “when you call me ‘Joshua’.”

“It doesn’t make me sound like your mother?” she asked.

“Not when you say it. It’s different with you.”

“Tell me about it,” she replied, standing up and stretching. She walked over and plucked the donut box from the table, setting it over on the counter. “Two is enough, Joshua,” she lingered over the syllables. “You really do need to look after your health better.”

But as he turned his body around so tell her that now she did sound like his mother, she moved in to kiss him on the forehead, only in the movement of it all, she missed, landing her kiss squarely on his nose. They both gasped in surprise, and before he knew what he was doing, he laced his fingers through her hair and pulled her down gently, shifting her downward so that her lips landed on his, and kissed her.

After a moment, her surprise still evident from the stiffness of her body, he felt her body relax, and lifted one leg over his lap so that she was straddling him in the chair, their kiss increasing in passion. He tasted the powdered sugar from the donut she ate and the faint trace of the banana behind the unavoidable tinge of coffee they both contributed.

After a moment he had to come up for air, though he hardly wanted to. Oxygen was a real buzzkill.

Her eyes were hooded, and as they looked at one another, her eyes widened with the realization of what they had just done.

“Don’t freak out,” he begged.

“I’m not freaking out,” she replied. “I’m just...we just…”

“Yeah…is that okay?” 

She raked her fingers through his hair, attempting to tame what she had just thoroughly mussed, and smiled. “I think it’s more than okay. But you know you really ought to take a girl to dinner first.”

He groaned and leaned forward to rest his forehead on her sternum, a gesture of intimacy he never risked before. It occurred to him, after a moment, that this meant he had essentially placed his head between her breasts, but it didn’t seem lascivious; it felt tender. She stroked his head, her thumb worrying behind his ear, making him shiver.

“Why don’t you make reservations for us tonight, Joshua? I’ll change and we can get started with work. And we’ll resume this...conversation then.”

He couldn’t get to the phone fast enough.


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not start this chapter thinking it was going to end where it ended, but here we are! I know it's a shorter one. There's more to come. I imagine this fic has two or three more chapter left? I'm not sure, really.

**Donna**

The lawyer, Alice, the daughter of his father’s college roommate, arrived at ten. She had been friends with Joanie, Donna learned when Josh introduced her, and now lived in Ridgefield with her girlfriend.

“Haven’t been here in ages,” Alice said, looking around the entryway with fondness.

“Thanks for coming all the way out. We’re sorry to spoil your Saturday. It’s just that we’re short on time and have to get back to D.C. for one last round of bullying Congress before the winter recess,” Josh answered.

“It’s no problem. I’m happy to help. When do you fly out? Not tomorrow, I hope.”

As they walked towards the kitchen, Donna turned back to the woman with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Have you not heard? There’s a hell of a nor’easter coming in late tonight. At least a foot of snow. I’ve got to run out to Stew’s and the hardware store after this for salt and the whole bread and milk thing.”

Josh groaned, and Donna sprang into action. “Do you want me to see if we can get a flight out today?”

“Yeah, I suppose you’d better.” Donna smiled politely at Alice and snagged the cordless phone from the dock on the wall, retreating back into the study to set up the flight.

Of course she was disappointed. Whatever spell had been cast over them while they were here in this house would be broken. It would be back to normal. If they could have just had one more night, she mused, but refused to finish the though.

She emerged from the study forty-five minutes later, only to find that Josh and Alice were nowhere to be found, at least not in the kitchen or living room. She heard a peal of laughter from down the hallway, and peeked in to find both of them sitting on Josh’s childhood bed, a photo album opened on Josh’s lap. Alice pointed to one of the photos and Donna could see his ears redden with embarrassment even as he laughed. If she felt a twinge of jealousy that it wasn’t her sitting next to him making him laugh, she was more pleased that he was laughing at all. It was a good look on him.

“Josh,” she said, hating to interrupt what is clearly a trip down memory lane.

“Donna,” he replied, looking up with surprise and a smile that nearly knocked her back into last week. “Come here, look at this picture of me and Joanie.” 

Donna walked in and sat on the bed next to Josh. A single look at the photo, faded with age, made her snort with laughter. Josh, who looked like he must have been eight or nine, was wearing a pair of tighty-whities as a hat, while Joanie, who must have been twelve or thirteen, stood behind him, arms akimbo, wearing a look of triumph. 

“I can’t believe your mom saved this one!” Donna exclaims.

“Oh, no, this one is definitely one my dad insisted on preserving. He might have actually been the one to have taken it.” Donna noticed a cloud settle over him, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Here he was, sitting on his bed in his childhood home, looking at snapshots of people who weren’t around anymore. She needs to change the subject, luckily - or maybe not so luckily, she has just the thing.

“We can’t get a flight out of White Plains. They’re all booked by people trying to get out before the storm. We could drive into New York. There’s a couple of flights with some empty seats still running out of LaGuardia, but they’re later flights and we’d be cutting it pretty close. D.C. is supposed to get hit by the nor’easter, too, and the booking agent said it’s likely incoming flights will get diverted. Or we could drive, but we’d have to leave within the hour and we’d probably get in by four or five depending on traffic.”

Josh let out a deep sigh. “Sorry, Alice, could you give Donna and me a minute? There’s coffee in the coffeemaker if you want it.” Getting coffee, sugar, and creamer had been Donna’s first errand after showering after breakfast. Josh’s run for coffee and donuts had been nice, but they were going, or at least had been going, to need reinforcements. She had also grabbed granola bars and a bunch of bananas.

Alice nodded and left the bedroom, giving the pair of them a lingering look as she shut the door behind her.

“An hour isn’t enough time to finish the paperwork, let alone even get started on inventory,” Donna said. 

“What a pointless trip,” he replied.

“Do you really think it’s been pointless?” she asked. She saw the look of realization on his face, and the guilt that followed.

“No! Not pointless, of course not. We had better pack it in, though. We can come up another time. Maybe at the start of the new year. We need to shut down the house, too. Turn off the water and run the taps dry. That’ll take some time.”

“No time for laundry, though. You think that can keep for a month or so?”

He stood up and stretched. “I’m sorry I brought you out all this way for nothing,” he said. 

“It hasn’t been nothing, Josh.”

“No, it hasn’t,” he admitted. “I...I better go tell Alice that she can head back home.”

And there it was. For whatever the past twenty-four hours had been, he was in retreat, willing, she supposed, to acknowledge that they had started something, but not willing to keep exploring whatever that was. They’d go back to Washington. He’d drop her off at her apartment and she’d see him at work on Monday. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll strip the beds.” She managed a weak smile and kissed him chastely on the forehead. 

“Donna,” he called as she began opening the door. “I owe you dinner. When we get back to D.C. If you want.”

Her smile turned stiff and she nodded, because that was all she was able to manage. He would forget, or there’d be infinite rainchecks. She knew him. She had told more than one of his dates that he’d have to take a raincheck for this dinner or that drink. He would get caught up with Congress, or a rogue senator, or something would come up in the Oval. There was always something. That was just Josh.

“Sure,” she replied, walking into the hallway towards her bedroom, cursing the Atlantic and the cyclone it rode in on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for putting up with me! I live for your thoughts!


	10. Part 10

**Donna**

_The best laid plans..._ she thought, peeking out the curtains. Only twenty minutes after Alice pulled out of the driveway, it started to snow hard.

His mom had canceled the cable when she moved out and she had never paid for internet, since she didn’t know how to use a computer, which meant that Donna ended up having to call Carol down in Washington for the weather report for Westport, Connecticut. 

It was, in short, not good news. Washington was already getting hit, but down there it was more of a slushy combination of rain and snow, Carol said. But Alice’s weather report had been out of date. The wasn’t going to start later; it was starting now.

“Thanks, Carol,” Donna said. “Stay safe down there. Could you tell Leo and Toby that we’re going to be a bit late getting back? I don’t think we’re going to make it home by Monday morning if that’s what things are looking like.” 

When she hung up the phone she yelled for Josh. It was time to take care of business. Practicality before panic, that was key.

“Joshua,” she said as he came around the corner sliding in his socks. 

“Yeah?”

“Alice’s weather report was wrong. This snow isn’t going to let up. I need to reschedule our flight and your Monday meetings, though you might be able to take the meeting with Pullman over the phone. Anyway, you need to go out and get us food and water right now before it becomes impossible to drive.”

His eyes widened. She wasn’t sure what she expected but she certainly didn’t expect his lips to curl up into a smirk. “Yes, m’am,” he replied, bending into a deep mock bow.   
She rolled her eyes. 

“Any requests?” he asked, looking up at her from his position of supplication. 

“Make sure some of the food you get doesn’t have to be cooked or refrigerated in case the power goes out. I only got granola bars earlier. And maybe grab some firewood if they have any?”

“How much snow are we expected to get?” he asked as his eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

“Carol said 14-18 inches over the next 24 hours. You’d better hustle.”

He peeled out the door with surprising haste, and as she called the assistants of senators and lobbyists, moving appointments so they were scattered later in the week, she could not help but feel - even with the impending doom of eighteen inches of snow and a potential power outage on the horizon - a slight thrill of anticipation and excitement.

He returned just as she finished rescheduling the meeting with Congressman Garcia, which was just as well anyway because they could use a couple extra days to prep. 

“Donna!” she heard him yell from the entryway. She scooted out of the office to find him covered in melting snow. His cheeks were pink from the cold and he wore a petulant grimace.

“I fell,” he said. “I fell two times. Once coming out of the grocery store and once walking up to the door.” 

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Did you hurt yourself?” She began the process of looking him over, her fingers running over his face, his arms. She liked doing this; she liked these little excuses to touch him. She luxuriated in the heat that radiated off his skin, rosy from the wind and cold.

“Just my pride, I think,” he said. She noticed his Adam’s apple bob slowly as she ran her fingers over that rise in his throat. “And the pride of my father. And the pride of my descendants.”

“Descendants?” she asked, pulling her head back and raising her eyebrow.

“Never mind,” he said, blushing, and then shivered from head to toe.

“Josh, you’re freezing. I can get the stuff out of the car. You get inside and start warming up.”

“No, no. I’ll get it. There’s a big case of water, and it’s really heavy.”

“Heavy? Why the sudden chivalry? I’ve been hauling your bags for years.”

He gave her a petulant look in the place of an actual response and headed back out the door. She watched him at the trunk of the rental car. She should go help him, she thought. But also...it was cold and snowy.

He was attempting to carry in everything in one trip, of course he was. And she watched him carefully, knowing that he would surely fall. But by sheer luck he made it to the door, which he might have misguidedly used to fuel his ego for several days, if he hadn’t fallen inside the moment she opened the door for him.

“Ow,” he murmured. 

“You’re cute when you’re clumsy, Joshua,” she said.

“I’m not always cute?” he grumbled. She helped pull him to his feet and picked up the bags that had fallen around him. 

“I guess so,” she replied, winking at him. She picked up the grocery bags, kissed him quickly on the cheek, and took them into the kitchen, leaving him in a dripping coat and a case of bottled water at his feet.

**Josh**

He watched her practically skip into the kitchen with the bags while he stood there like a fool.

“I could be very injured!” he hollered.

“You said it was just your pride!” she yelled back.

He stood there and grumbled some more, taking off the gloves and hat he pilfered from the coat closet, hung his coat on a hook to dry off, and kicked his boots off onto the mat.

“Do I get no respect after returning from a harrowing journey to retrieve supplies and sustenance for our survival?” he asked as he rounded the corner. She was standing at the counter top, pulling groceries out of the bags and placing them on the counter.

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Joshua.” He saw her hair hanging in her face, acting like a curtain between her and him. It was all he could do not to come up and tuck her hair gently behind her ear.

“Are you worried?” he asked instead.

“Worried about snow? Are you kidding? I’m a Wisconsin girl. I can handle snow.”

“But what about me?”

“What _about_ you?” she returned.

“You’re not worried about the prospect of hanging out with me, here, for the next twenty-four hours or so?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he replied. “Well, you’re braver than I am.”

“Are you worried?” she asked as she pulled a tub of ice cream out of the paper shopping bag.

He looked at her closely then, dragging his eyes over the fine sheet of hair that framed her face, her delicate eyebrows, her eyes that seemed to see him more clearly than he saw himself. He appreciated the roundness of her cheekbones, the dimples that framed her mouth.

“Around you? Always.”

“Josh -” she began, but stopped for a moment, distracted by the contents of the shopping bag.

“Joshua, what on earth did you get at the store? Ice cream? Fries? A baguette? Salad dressing? Are you running a marathon and looking to carbo-load? Or drunk?”

He felt the heat rise in his face, and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand as he looked away.

“Well...I guess...I see now that maybe this was...The thing is, I promised you...Look, I promised we’d go to dinner, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And you wanted French. But that’s not an option, now, obviously. So I…”

“Oh my God,” she said, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh, Joshua, my idiotic Fulbright Scholar. If I tell the President about this, you’ll never hear the end of it. This is cute, Josh. Sweet even.”

He watched as she walked over to put the bag of fries and ice cream in the freezer, and then back over to him, very close to him, right up in front of him in fact so that he could feel the heat radiating from her body. And then she fisted the fabric of his sweater and pulled him towards her, and kissed him. Thoroughly.

“This morning you said I ought to take you out to dinner first,” he said when they released. “But now we can’t, and it’s going to be a while before we’re back in D.C….so I thought…”

“That if we couldn’t go out for French food, you’d bring French food to us.” She buried her head in his chest, and he could feel her lips turn up into a smile. Her body vibrated with laughter, and it was becoming more and more difficult to control the impulses of his body. “Joshua, French fries aren’t even French. It’s the way they’re cut or something.”

“I was pressed for time! And, you know, I left my copy of Julia Child in my office, so sue me, Moss.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, and looked up at him before pressing a gentle kiss onto his jaw.

His heart seemed to stop, and maybe time did, too, for all he knew. For a moment, the world was silent, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of her steady breathing. He wrapped his arms around her, and he could feel her breath catch, or maybe it was his. 

“And you’re everything, Donna,” he whispered, putting his forefinger under her chin and lifting it up to kiss her again. 

“When I said I was worried,” he said after, one hand on her waist and the other pressing her body to his on the small of her back, “I meant that I’m worried that if we cross a line, I’m not going to want to go back. I’m worried that if you do want to go back and pretend we didn’t cross a line, I don’t know what I would do.”

“Joshua,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his ear, “I think we crossed a line a very long time ago, and it’s only just now we’re realizing how far past it we’ve gone.”

“And when was that?”

“‘I think you might find me valuable,’” she repeated from long ago.

His body shivered, this time not from the cold. “Yeah,” he replied, remembering and agreeing. His heart was practically beating in his ears. “Understatement of a lifetime.” 

He clenched his jaw, now was as good a time as any. You don’t buy a woman all the French food Shop Rite has to offer on short notice - French vanilla ice cream, french fries, French bread, French dressing - and not confess your feelings for her. That would be like getting the love of your life a dozen roses only to follow up with a firm handshake.

“I love you, Donnatella.” He waited for the world to gobble him up.


	11. Part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, this is extremely steamy. It's rated M for a reason. Definitely NSFW.

**Donna**

_He clenched his jaw, now was as good a time as any. You don’t buy a woman all the French food Shop Rite has to offer on short notice - French vanilla ice cream, french fries, French bread, French dressing - and not confess your feelings for her. That would be like getting the love of your life a dozen roses only to follow up with a firm handshake._

_“I love you, Donnatella.” He waited for the world to gobble him up._

She looked up at him, and she could see the apprehension, the nervousness in his eyes. She knew the feeling well - a full and consuming fear of rejection, one she had continually pushed down over and over, knowing it would be easier to endlessly defer. To be with him, just to be by his side at work would be enough. Or in any case it would be better than rejection.

So when she heard the words come from his mouth, unprompted by wine - real, genuine words that caught on his throat and sounded so husky it was if it was coming right out of one of her dreams, she started to feel tears prick in the back of her eyes, and before she knew it, she was openly crying.

“Donna?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. “Are you okay? Oh, God, Donna. I’m so sorry. Just - just pretend I didn’t say it.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “No. There are no take-backs in dreams.”

“What?” Through her tears, she saw his confused expression.

“This,” she said, waving her hands around. “I’m dreaming. I’ve obviously finally lost it. Or maybe I hit my head?” She would have to take some time off work, she thought to herself, maybe start seeing a therapist, because these dreams of hers were starting to get _way_ too realistic. 

“Dreaming? Donna, you’re not dreaming.”

“That’s exactly what a dream would say, Joshua.”

“Why would you think this was a dream?” he asked, leaning back far enough so that he could see her whole face.

“Because! All of this! Everything! When would this ever happen? You taking me up to your childhood home at random for no actual good reason. And then conveniently getting snowed in so we have to spend time together cuddled up. And then that,” she said, pointing to the baguette on the counter, “that is one of the stupidest and cutest things you’ve ever done. And you’ve done a lot of stupid things. And then you tell me that you love me and you aren’t even drunk! It’s like my brain manufactured this entire weekend as an elaborate fantasy, and it’s just so convenient and unexpected and yet logical for us that it could only be the creation of my brain trying to protect me from the ongoing trauma of my being ridiculously and unrequitedly in love with you.”

She looked back up to him to find his confused expression had turned into a bemused one, his mouth flickering into a gentle smirk. His dimples were firing on all pistons, which caused her to tear up again. He put his forefinger under her chin and raised her chin so that he could look at her, then ran his thumb across her cheek, wiping away a tear.

“I’m trying to tell you, Donnatella, that it is very, very much requited, if you would just listen to me for a moment.”

“Whatever, this isn’t even real,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Yes. It is. Surreal, maybe, but also real.”

She looked at him with a level of resolve that surprised even her - but it is, of course, easier to muster courage in dreams - and said, “Then _prove_ it.”

His eyebrows might have leapt to his forehead for a moment, but then he smiled broadly, reverently, all teeth and all dimples, and took her head in his hands, smoothing both thumbs across the plains of her face, and kissed her. It couldn’t have been more than two heart beats before the kiss turned heated, urgent, his lips raking across hers, his tongue teasing at her for entrance, for contact. His right hand snaked down her neck, down her sides, lingering on the curve of her hip, before splaying across her back, pushing her against his body as close as he could. His left hand swept behind her head, weaving his fingers into her hair.

The kiss was like fire, that’s the only way she could describe it. Hot and searing, making it difficult to breathe, but she wanted more. Before she knew what was happening, she felt him maneuver her backwards, pushing her up against the wall, his left hand releasing from her hair as he used it to support himself. She gasped, and pushed herself up against him, pressing her breasts against his chest. It was then that she could feel his hardness against her through his jeans, firm and urgent and growing.

“Josh,” she breathed raggedly.

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he groaned, his eyes bleary and dark.

“I think you’ve convinced me,” she whispered in his ear. She took his earlobe between her teeth and nipped lightly.

**Josh**

His vision suddenly went spotty, and he became dizzy. But he pinned her body to the wall with his own, and she began rucking up his sweater and shirt, stroking her hands across his waist, his stomach, his back. He felt her fingers sweep around to his chest where they traced the indentation of his scar, when he heard her breath hitch and her body tense.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“What are you sorry for?” He leaned back to look at her, her lips plump and red, he noticed, from his good work.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t with you when it happened. I’m sorry that it happened at all. I was so worried.” She paused for a moment, seeming to choke on her words. “For a moment I thought I had died.”

“Shhh, Donna, it’s okay. _You_ were the one who got me through it. I only got through it because of you. But I don’t want to talk about Rosslyn right now.”

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, sniffling but smiling slightly and using the sleeve of her sweatshirt to wipe her eyes.

“Well, at some point I want to talk about how you thought that I’d only ever say ‘I love you’ in a dream, but --”

“Seriously, Josh?” she replied, cutting him off. “I can work up an entire slideshow presentation if you --”

“No, no,” he smirked, raking his eyes over her unfortunately still clothed body, “right now I don’t think I want to do _any_ talking at all.”

Her eyes widened, her lips splitting into a smile.

“But I do think we should change locations. If you do that ear thing again, I’m not responsible for maintaining our balance.”

She chuckled mischievously, and pulled him with both hands around his head and the back of his neck for another kiss. And he wanted to kiss her, he really did, but it would be much nicer, he thought, horizontally.

Eventually he managed to pull her into the bedroom. He couldn’t think of which one to use, but the master was the closest and that’s where he had slept the previous night anyway. As much as a small voice in his head was apprehensive about using his parents’ bed for the horizontal mambo, it was soundly outvoted. 

“Joshua, what are you thinking about?” she asked as she toed off her socks. He turned around and pulled her to him, leading them backwards until her legs hit the side of the bed.

“I’m wondering why this took us so long,” he replied.

“You had your head firmly screwed up your own ass. That might have been something to do with it.”

“What the hell?” he asked as she pulled his shirt and sweater over his head.

“But it’s a really, really nice ass, so…”

She giggled and squeaked when he lunged toward her, pinning her on her back to the bed. 

“Turnabout is fair play, Ms. Moss,” he said, working his fingers under her shirt and wandered up her ribcage. She helped him shimmy off her own shirt and sweatshirt, leaving her in only her bra, a dainty thing with small pink polka dots.

His breath stopped when he looked below her, her hair fanned out around her head, her skin practically glowing in the greyness of the afternoon, still clothed from the waist down. 

“Can I touch you?” he whispered.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?” she teased.

“You’re so...beautiful I feel like I need a permit just to be allowed in the same room, let alone to touch you.”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“I know, I just…”

“Joshua, touch me,” she told him. “But lose the pants.”

He quickly divested himself of his jeans, but left his boxers on. He slid his hands up her legs over the tight denim that hid them from him. 

“Can I?” he said, his fingers resting on the waistband.

She nodded, and he flicked the button open, slowly peeling off her jeans before tossing them to the side. When he took her in, all of her, it could have been seconds, or minutes, or months, but he was sure he would never tire of seeing her like this, if she would let him, for however long she wanted. 

He began at her stomach, and as he thought it might, it fluttered and she gasped at his touch. He followed with his lips, beginning at the top of her panties - grey with white lace - and kissed his way up to the bottom of her bra. 

“You’re incredible,” he said as if he were seeing the stars in the sky for the first time. He kissed back down her stomach again, swirling his tongue around her navel, and bit lightly at both crests of her hip bones. 

“Come here,” she said, pulling gently at his hair. As he crawled above her, she sneaked her arms around his back, palming his ass before pulling him down on top of her.

“But I’m not done with you yet,” he whined. He brought his hand between them, skimming her panty line with his fingers teasingly, before dropping lower, still atop her panties, and rubbed a small, tight circle around the little bud he felt below the fabric. She moaned.

“See?” he asked. She nodded frantically with her eyes closed tightly.

“Look at me, Donna. Look at me while I touch you.” 

**Donna**

She opened her eyes with some reluctance, her chest rising and falling deeply, watching him as he kneeled beside the bed and made quick work of her panties, which he flung who knows where. She’d find them later.

He ran his hands over her legs, and pulled her ass down to the end of the bed, spreading her legs apart. He grazed his hands over her inner thighs and planted painfully slow kisses up to the crease between her leg and labia, near which she was sure he could see her moisture pooling. Sure enough, he dragged his finger over the outside of her folds, the contact making her hips twitch. She pushed herself up to rest on her forearms just in time to watch him place his finger into his mouth, and she was sure she almost blacked out with desire.

He looked up at her with darkened eyes, his eyebrow arched in question, and it was all she could do to nod before he took a swipe of his tongue from her entrance to her clit. Her entire body shivered with lust and love, and she groaned loudly.

“I love it when you make noises for me,” he said, but before she could offer anything by way of a rejoinder, he licked at her again, the tip of his tongue probing her folds, teasing the bud at their apex.

“You’re so wet, Donna,” he groaned. She could hear something else, too, and opened her eyes to see him touching himself through his boxers as he lapped at her heat, and that was all it took. Her orgasm, which had been steadily building since he stripped her of her panties, suddenly ripped through her, radiating down to her toes and up the back of her neck and scalp.

“Holy shit,” she panted. 

“That was amazing,” he said. “You’re soaked. It’s incredible.”

“Josh, kiss me,” she said, grabbing for him below. He crawled up over her and kissed her, his lips wet with her moisture. She could feel him straining against his boxers, his erection skimming against her stomach.

**Josh**

He wanted absolutely nothing more than to be inside of her. He was so hard he felt like he might explode. He felt her fingers grazing the band of his boxers, and she took him in her hand, teasing his balls with the tips of her fingers. 

“Donna, no,” he managed to say.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing’s wrong, but I’m glad I got an orgasm out of you, because once I’m inside of you, I’m not going to last very long. If you keep doing that I’m going to come right now.”

She grinned and released her hand from his cock, moving instead to push off and away his boxers.

“Then you had better get going, don’t you think?” she teased.

“Condom?” he asked.

“I’m clean and on the pill. You?”

“I’m clean, too.”

“Then get going, tiger.”

He pushed her body back further onto the bed and ran his length along her folds.

“I’ve never been this turned on in my entire life,” he said.

“Me neither,” she replied. Her eyes, he noticed, were dark and sultry, her skin flushed and glowing with a sheen of sweat.

“Are you ready?” he asked, unable to bear not being inside her any longer.

“Yes, Josh, please,” she gasped. He brought the head of his cock to her entrance, hot and drenched and ready for him, and slowly pushed forward - not too fast, not too sudden. He wanted to savor the sensation of her enveloping him for the first time. 

“Oh my God,” he shuddered, pushing in further. She clenched around him, causing him to see stars again. “Donna, Jesus, you feel so good. You’re so fucking tight.” 

“It’s been a while,” she admitted. She ran her hands over his flanks and across the broad expanse of his back. Her feet curled around his legs, pressing him closer. 

He was fully seated within her. He looked down between them where their bodies connected, his breath ragged. He felt like a live wire. Carefully he pulled out slightly and pushed back in, working on creating as slow and steady a rhythm as he could. He didn’t want it to end too soon.

She moaned with every thrust, raising her hips to meet his. She squeezed and kneaded his ass as he fucked her, her eyes closed in pleasure.

“Donna, look at me. I want to see your eyes.”

She opened her eyes once more, and they were wild, reverent, lustful, and they completely bowled him over with the sheer force of love that shined out of them.

“Josh, rub my clit. I’m so close. I want you to come with me.”

He did as he was told, and used his right hand to reach between them, rubbing firmly but gently at her clit. His orgasm was building tightly in his balls, his entire body tingling with anticipation, with the pleasure that precedes euphoria.

“I’m gonna come,” he panted.

“Come with me!” she shouted, and he released. His vision grew fuzzy, and his body went rigid. He thrusted in uncontrollable spasms as he came inside of her. From the distance he thought he could hear her moaning beneath him.

“Holy shit, Josh,” he heard her whisper after what could have been a moment or a decade.

“I know. Holy shit.”

He placed his head on her chest and she began lazily playing with his hair. 

“I think I like being snowed in with you, Joshua.”


End file.
